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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760602">Maybe One Day We'll be Okay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinsnymph/pseuds/lupinsnymph'>lupinsnymph</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Referenced only- not in detail), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, Depression, Feels, Flashbacks, Harry is not okay, Implied Unhealthy Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Survivor Guilt, The Golden Trio, Unhealthy Relationships, pure angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:46:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinsnymph/pseuds/lupinsnymph</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is not okay. Ron and Hermione try to hold their friend together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Maybe One Day We'll be Okay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is pure, self-indulgent angst. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry felt as though he had a personal dementor lurking around him, waiting round every corner, seeping into every room he occupied. A low keening sound reached his ears, and it took him a moment to recognise that it was coming from his own mouth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Regret churned deep in his stomach, the sharp sting of loss settled in the back of his throat and guilt seemed to pierce every pore in his body, forcing him to gasp out in pain. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry hadn’t been able to attend any of the funerals. Why would he? It would be cruel to show himself when he was the cause of their death, the reason parents no longer had a child to raise and the reason why children no longer had parents to turn to for comfort. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Although a rational part of him knew that Harry himself had not spoken those killing curses, maybe, <em> just maybe </em>, they would still be alive if he had found the horcruxes sooner, had been brave enough to kill Death Eaters not just disarm, had been skilled enough to protect people! So many people gone due to his laziness and cowardice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He let out another pained groan and clawed violently at his arms. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When firm hands gripped his own and pulled them away, he fought back, sobs erupting in ugly gasps and shakes. He shook his head. Didn’t they understand? He didn’t deserve kindness or compassion. <em> Murderers </em> didn’t deserve to be loved. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Harry, mate, you’re scaring me. Please!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A flash of red hair and freckles, soft hands and familiar.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Glassy eyes, red hair splashed with dried blood, a dying laugh. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“C’mon Harry, it’s me, Ron. You’re in your room, Hermione’s downstairs, we had coffee this morning yeah. You and your ridiculous black coffee, and those biscuits that Kreacher baked. Blimey, still can’t believe that’s a sentence I’d ever say!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry’s hands stilled before resuming a frantic struggle, this time checking for a pulse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ron”, he gasped out between harsh pants, “Ron, Hermione!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A hand brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead, “Hermione’s downstairs, we’re safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Safe, they were safe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As always a wave of exhaustion washed over Harry as his panic slowly receded, leaving a lingering feeling of shame and guilt as he leaned into his best friend. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Murderers didn’t deserve love. Somehow his two best friends hadn’t quite managed to grasp that, a fact that both warmed and repulsed him. The grasp on his hand tightened as if his companion had read his mind, or maybe he was talking out loud? It was hard to tell these days what was reality and what was just in his head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Harry wasn’t sure how long had passed, but he realised that the tickle of his cheek was a bush of frizzy hair, and there was a slender hand rubbing cold ointment onto his arms. He tried to pull away, to protest the kind actions, but was quickly hushed by a soft finger on his lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s okay Harry. It’s okay.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay. But maybe one day he would be.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first time Ron had witnessed Harry have an ‘episode’, as he had dubbed them, had been during their 5th year at Hogwarts. He’d woken to this awful low whining sound, a sound he’d imagine coming from a dying man, not from his best friends bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d ripped the curtain open, expecting to find… well he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe Harry was being attacked or having a vision? Instead he’d found Harry rocking slightly and furiously scratching his arms in frantic movements. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When there was no reply, Ron found himself starting to panic. “Harry?”, he called out in a harsh whisper. There was still no reply. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Slightly panicked by the spots of blood on Harry’s arms, he grabbed his friends hands in his own and sat down in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry, mate? Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s okay yeah? You-know-who ain’t here…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That awful sounds had stopped coming from Harry’s mouth, and had started to turn into soft sobs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ron remembered waking up from a nightmare he’d had when he’d been younger. It had been after the twins had turned his teddy into a spider, and all he could dream about where those awful insects covering him, crawling into his mouth and ears and tickling his skin. He’d woken up crying and shrieking until a warm familiar body had taken him into her arms and held him tight until the world had felt safe again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling slightly awkward, Ron rearranged his gangly limbs until he was sitting next to Harry, and hesitantly wrapped an arm around him, still resting his other hand upon Harry’s. He grimaced slightly at the sweat drenched t-shirt his friend was wearing, but pulled him closer nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Harry, we got potions tomorrow yeah? What to you reckon the greasy git is gonna make us brew this time? Merlin help us mate, I swear he’s just gonna outright poison us one day… well maybe you more than me. That blokes had it out for you since day one…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He continued to talk nonsense in a low tone until he realised that Harry had fallen silent, and all the remained was the tremble of his thin frame. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mate?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-I don’t…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ron cut of off with an awkward shrug, given their current position, “Mate, I wasn’t gonna let you maul yourself to death, reckon You-know-who’s got that covered”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He immediately winced at the insensitive joke, but relaxed when Harry gave a weak snort. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn’t be the last time Ron would stay up for hours, watching as his best friend fell apart, and it certainly wouldn’t get any easier over the years. It had however, created a shift in their friendship. It had formed a bond between them that only Hermione Granger would ever be able to understand and join. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>None of them were okay, but maybe together, they would survive. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione had always found it distressing, the odd sentences that Harry would sometimes say and quickly disregard if she ever showed concern. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I can cook, I’ve been doing it since I was six.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve always been fast, had to ‘cus of of Harry-Hunting”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes I thought I would die in my cupboard…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah well, if I hadn’t got Sirius killed, who knows?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lucky the Dursley’s never managed to stamp my freakishness out, Voldemort would have killed us all!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For one of the first times in her life, Hermione didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know what to say to her best friend who held himself in such low self-esteem, who seemed incapable of processing grief without blaming himself, and who had been told his whole life that he was strange, weird, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>freak. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She discovered that the Wizarding world was extremely behind when it came to mental health and emotional wellbeing. Hermione struggled to find a single magical book about PTSD or self-harm or even abuse! And although the muggle world had a few informative books, there was hardly a guide about how to help your best friend who ‘killed an evil dictator indirectly, was kept in a cupboard for nine years and might have potential lasting effects from an under researched killing curse’! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ironically enough it was her own trauma from Bellatrix’s torture, the images of her dead friends and that awful year on the run that helped Hermione the most. She began to understand that Harry wasn’t ‘broken’, none of them were in fact, and that maybe this wasn’t something she could fix with a quick trip to the library. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, she held Harry (and at times Ron) when he shook with fear and guilt. She carefully smoothed healing ointment onto his scratched arms, and wiped his tears away with a damp cloth. She spoke to him gently as he screamed himself hoarse, pleading with her to kill him, to hurt him, to let him rest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And at the same time, she learnt to let herself heal, to cry and rage and grieve. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>None of them were okay, but maybe that was okay. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They had each other. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And as long as they had each other, what more would they need? </span>
</p>
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